by Jay Lawrence
"Get on your hands and knees."
"On the bed?"
"Yes, Vicki, on the bed. That's where sluts like you belong."
The word "slut" shocked, then excited her. It was true. She was a whore. Mutely, she adopted the position he asked, feeling supremely vulnerable. His invisible hands grasped her trembling hips, placed her just so. He seemed to want her in a servile, animal-like position, with her bottom raised in the air. Her panties were soaked with musk-scented juice. Her tender clit throbbed.
"I'm going to spank you now, Vicki. You're a naughty girl."
"Yes, sir."
She could not think of anything else to say and the brief, respectful response seemed to please him. She shivered and moaned again as her damp panties were slowly peeled from her lovely bottom, ending up about her knees.
"What a pretty bottom you have. Just made for reddening. I thought that as I watched you dance, when you were trying to fuck that pole."
Lisette could not respond. Her whole body was tense with anticipation and saturated with a lush erotic pleasure. She was a whore, a pretty, expensive slut who was to have her lovely bottom spanked. The man's breath was hot and moist on the nape of her neck and she cried out with the unbearable tension. He placed the palm of one hand against the sensitive contours of her buttocks.
"Please..."
She realized she was almost on the point of begging him to begin, such was her excitement. His hand moved away from her electrified flesh.
"Ohhh!"
Suddenly, sharply, the guy began to smack her naked bottom. The first spank surprised her with its angry, stinging pain, like the bite of a large insect, then the sensation changed to a deeper, warmer sensation and the spanks felt more like a thudding beat. Lisette wriggled her bottom from side to side and ground her hips, clenching and relaxing with the steady rain of smacks. Once she raised her head and the man pushed it down abruptly with his free hand, as if he wanted her to remain in a cowed, submissive position. The throbbing in her clit was intensifying with every spank. After a while, she realized she was crying out softly with every resounding smack.
"Oh! Oh! Oh!"
The man's free hand grasped her beautiful, shining hair and held it tight, bringing tears of pain to Lisette's eyes. It hurt, but there was also something really thrilling about it, something primeval and deeply exciting. She moaned again, louder than before. The bare bottom spanking continued, harder and faster than before. The young woman's hips bucked wildly and she began to wail. She was going to come with a ferocious intensity.
"Cum-slut!"
His voice was cool and distant in her ear.
"Whore!"
His hand was hot, but not as hot as her exposed and scarlet bottom.
"Oh God! Oh no! Oh help me!"
Screaming, Lisette orgasmed, as the man roughly turned her over and pumped his own erupting love-juice over her open, gasping scarlet mouth.
* * * *
Somehow, after a long, intense night punctuated with other dream-like acts in which she was used like a mindless blonde doll, Lisette slept. In the morning, she woke to an empty hotel room. The man, whose name she never did ask, had gone, leaving behind a sheaf of crisp one hundred dollar notes. There was no message, nothing to say whether he had enjoyed himself or found her a worthy slut, just the money. One thousand dollars. Feeling like an intruder, Lisette dressed swiftly, tidied herself and left the luxurious hotel as quickly as she could.
Outside, the sun was shining. Yellow cabs looked glaringly bright against the gray street, and everything looked different somehow. It was blondeness that did that. Being blonde could truly change your life. With a new spring in her step, Lisette stepped out, a swing to her hips and a glint in her eye, tossing her shining, silvery curls.
SPANKING SALLY
Mr. Wilberforce would not have called himself a fussy man, but he did like everything to have its place and to be in it. Inside the house was easy enough. Every space, nook and cranny was his.
Towels naturally gravitated to the towel drawer. Socks were where they belonged. He had trained his daily help to iron his shirts the way he liked them and hang them in order of prestige – from casual through business to dress. His suits went to the cleaner to be pressed. He took pleasure in shining his own shoes to a luster of perfection.
The kitchen contained the ingredients he wanted where he wanted them. He never ran out. He knew his way round the grocery store blindfold. He could even predict where the next shuffle of goods would leave the balsamic vinegar or the teriyaki sauce.
Mr. Wilberforce was in charge inside his house. His garden, however, suffered from neighbors. Not that they deliberately invaded his garden or purposefully damaged its symmetry. They just overflowed on occasion from their own territory. This was a neighborhood without fences or walls, so it was easy enough to stray.
The wind caught grass cuttings and blew them onto Mr. Wilberforce's patio. Barbecue smoke found its way into his bedroom. Toys and bicycles migrated to the fringes of his lawns.
Mr. Wilberforce could handle grass on the patio. He was handy with a brush. He enjoyed a good barbecue. And thoughtlessly abandoned bicycles could be quietly wheeled back to their own enclave. He could handle most things. But not all.
On this evening Mr. Wilberforce met his bête noire. He was dressed, for a formal dinner at the Business Club, in tuxedo, bowtie and brilliantly shined shoes. His face still stung slightly from a close shave. As he went to lock the back door he glanced out of the window. And froze.
Slowly he started to move, through the door, and into the garden. Stunned, he stared at the pool. Two footballs floated at the shallow end. A child's garden rake bobbed at the deep end.
These invasions he could deal with. The other invasion spelled long hours of labor to return cherished order to his life.
A thin film of grass cuttings turned the pool a delicate shade of summer green. Mr. Wilberforce shuddered.
"Sorry!"
He heard the voice of Sally the next door neighbor approaching.
"The wind caught the cuttings before I got the lid on the bin. Don't worry, the robot filter gizmo will clear it."
Mr. Wilberforce turned to look at Sally.
"The 'robot filter gizmo' is in the shop being repaired. It got indigestion after the last load of your escapee cuttings! This lot will have to be cleared out with the net. I don't suppose you'd like to do it?"
"No sir! I got enough to do keeping my own place in order. It won't take you long."
"It will take hours. It is hardly neighborly of you to spread your garden waste in my pool then walk away."
Sally placed one hand on her hip. She was wearing tight denim shorts and an outrageously skimpy cotton top. She tossed her head to clear her thick blonde hair from her eyes.
"So smack my ass!"
Mr. Wilberforce stiffened. In fact, to his surprise, he stiffened in more ways than one.
"Must you be so vulgar, Mrs. Roberts? This is not the Bronx. This is Connecticut."
Sally threw her golden mane back and laughed so hard that Mr. Wilberforce could see her tonsils. They looked very pink and healthy. As did the full, plump pair of breasts that squeezed voluptuously from the plunging neckline of the tiny top. Mr. Wilberforce stiffened even more. So much so that he had to shift his weight from one shiny shoe to the other in a vain attempt to adjust his comfort. Sally caught the action and a knowing, taunting look entered her eyes. Slowly, deliberately, she ran the tip of her tongue over her full pink lips. Mr. Wilberforce's cock twitched and he jumped as if from an electric shock. Sally pouted theatrically and tried to look contrite.
"I really am sorry, Mr. W. I know how meticulous you are. I'll just take that little net over there and put things right for you."
Mr. Wilberforce watched as Sally swayed over to the very edge of the swimming pool and picked up a small child's fishing net, left behind by her brood. Slowly, sensuously, she bent forwards and began deftly skimming the surface of the water to remove the
grass clippings. Mr. Wilberforce gasped. A sizeable expanse of Sally's broad, plump bottom was exposed by her almost unnecessarily gymnastic position. Her sturdy tanned thighs were spread wide, thong-clad feet planted firmly on the tiled pool rim. A small tattoo of a rose began just above her left ankle and coiled its way upwards towards the back of her knee. Her calves were strong and smooth. Mr. Wilberforce's cock throbbed.
"How am I doing? How does it look from where you're standing, Mr. W?"
Mr. Wilberforce smiled at his neighbor's muffled question. It was an interesting sort of smile, rather sardonic, as if he knew something that Sally didn't. His cock was a solid, pulsing rod in his pristine Egyptian cotton underpants. His cock liked the look of Sally's broad, round buttocks, spilling wantonly from the measly confines of the outrageously tiny shorts. It enjoyed the way they wobbled slightly as her body flexed rhythmically, idly drawing the little net across the pool. It especially enjoyed the thought of spanking those glorious sun-kissed orbs. Cocks always have minds of their own and Mr. Wilberforce's cock was, naturally, a most particular creature. Still smiling and with a steely glint in his eye, Mr. Wilberforce approached his neighbor from behind. He stood so close that he could smell Sally's perfume, something rather fruity, almost tropical, mixed with the warm musky scent of her body. Sensing his proximity, she dipped forwards even more boldly than before, pushing her ample hips against Mr. Wilberforce's swollen crotch. His rigid cock rested against the delicious crevice of her ass and he swallowed hard.
"Feels nice, hmm?"
Sally ground her bottom in Mr. Wilberforce's crotch. His trousers were cut fashionably tight and were barely able to contain a monstrous erection.
"Like that, honey? Mmm, I can feel you do . . ."
Mr. Wilberforce clasped his hands behind his back, hesitated a moment, then reached for Sally's barely covered buttocks. Sally bent over even further, leaning out to reach a stray clump of grass.
"This makes toys on your lawn worthwhile, heh? You don't mind grass in your pool now, do you, Mr. W?"
Mr. Wilberforce's hands stopped short of Sally's rear. He had a vision of his pool full of grass cuttings, twigs, branches, bushes and whole tree trunks. The whole lightly dusted with tricycles and footballs.
"On the contrary, Mrs. Roberts. I mind very much!"
Mr. Wilberforce placed his hands on Sally's half-naked rear and pushed. He was a large man, with arm muscles well developed from regular lawn-cutting. Sally flew through the air, and landed breasts first in the cool water. She disappeared under the surface for several seconds then burst upwards, her hair plastered all over her shocked face. She spluttered and blew, then turned as she treaded water to show her furious face to Mr. Wilberforce.
"You bastard! I'm soaked! I'll get you, you . . ."
Sally swam with a firm breast stroke to the side of the pool where the wrought iron garden table stood on the tiles.
"Well, help me out, Mister Woman-beater!"
Mr. Wilberforce smiled at her description of him, though he'd have preferred woman-spanker. His hand itched to complete Sally's punishment. He felt Egyptian cotton stitching give way under the pressure from within.
Mr. Wilberforce walked round the pool to Sally. The front of his trousers preceded him by a respectable distance.
"Give me your hand, Mrs. Roberts."
He leaned down to take Sally's hand and pulled her easily out of the water. She dripped on the tiles. Her top clung to her breasts and molded wetly to her large hard nipples. The soaking denim shorts crept between her ass cheeks.
Sally put her hands on her hips and looked up at Mr. Wilberforce. She opened her mouth to speak . . .
. . . and Mr. Wilberforce placed his hands on her shoulders, spun her round and ignoring her surprised shriek bent her over the sturdy wrought iron table!
"I can see you still need teaching a lesson, Mrs. Roberts. Do pardon the cliché but this will hurt you more than it hurts me."
He took the waistband of Sally's shorts in one large hand and tugged. He expected the shorts to slide down her bottom and thighs after some resistance, but to his surprise and to the delight of his barely restrained cock the water and sun-weakened seams gave way. He found himself with Sally pressed against the table with one hand, the remains of her shorts in the other, and a plump bare wet backside wriggling furiously inches from his rampant erection. Decisions, decisions...
Mr. Wilberforce raised his spanking arm. It had been quite some time since he last disciplined a young lady but spanking was like riding a bicycle, once learned, never forgotten. Sally's lovely bottom quivered gently in the afternoon heat, all lush, ripe curves, delicately ruffled by a good crop of gooseflesh. The usual peach similes drifted through Mr. Wilberforce's mind. A juicy peachy bottom and a pair of vast ripe melons up top. Why, Sally was a veritable fruit salad on legs. Mr. Wilberforce smiled and brought his hand down, sharply smacking his neighbor's naked rear. Sally squealed.
"You can't do that! Stop that right now!"
There was something almost phony about her protests and Mr. Wilberforce smiled more broadly. Sally's cool, pool-drenched flesh became warm under Mr. Wilberforce's hand. Smack, smack, smack. At first she made a rather half-hearted attempt at struggling free then she gave up all pretence and began to thoroughly enjoy herself.
"Ooh, yes! Yes!"
Sally's ample boobs bounced in time with the spanking, swinging low and free in their flimsy wrapping of wet cotton. She ground her hips against the edge of the table, alternately pushing her rapidly reddening buttocks up to meet Mr. Wilberforce's disciplining hand and making frantic fucking motions. Mr. Wilberforce could see her plump pudenda; her pussy was wet, the labia slick and inviting. He unzipped his pants and placed the knob of his cock against Sally's scarlet bottom.
"Oh, yes! Yes, please!"
Mr. Wilberforce reached around Sally's body and cupped her large wet breasts. She shuddered as he squeezed them rhythmically and he savored the feel of her huge nipples pressing hard against the sodden cloth.
"Fuck me!"
Sally's ass was massaging his cock. Up and down she jiggled, thrusting and wriggling and squealing, desperate to have his solid shaft deep inside her body. Mr. Wilberforce, being something of a sadist, was taking plenty of time. Taking her fat, rigid nipples between his fingers and pinching them firmly, he spoke softly in her ear.
"Beg for it, Mrs. Roberts."
Sally froze. Her pussy was wetter than it had ever been. She was slick, velvety, juicy, hot, hot, hot. She felt like an alley cat on heat. She wanted his cock deep and hard inside her cunt and she wanted it RIGHT NOW. Beg for it? Beg for it??!! Jesus.
Mr. Wilberforce increased his grip on Sally's nipples and she flinched, becoming angry in her frustration.
"Who do you think you are, anyway? The fucking President? Or maybe the King of La La Land?"
Mr. Wilberforce smiled. He hadn't smiled so much in a long time.
"As far as you're concerned, Mrs. Roberts, I am the King of La La Land. Turn around and beg nicely. On all fours."
"Dream on, mister. I'm not begging for no one. You can save that particular fantasy for another one of your victims."
Sally turned her head to glare back at him and he loosened his grip on her breasts.
"If that's the way you want it, Mrs. Roberts."
But Sally's glare turned slowly to a look of astonishment as her eyes dropped from Mr. Wilberforce's smiling face to the waist level of his tuxedo. And a little below. It appeared Mr. Wilberforce kept a small nuclear arsenal in his trousers. His cock stretched out to Sally like a wrestler's arm, an arm with a thick throbbing vein running along the top. A very tall and long-armed wrestler, almost – one might say – simian.
Mr. Wilberforce was blessed with a whopper.
Sally wanted desperately to be whopped.
"On all fours," said Mr. Wilberforce pleasantly.
Sally hesitated, then slid slowly off the table. Her nipples bounced from hole to hole on the wrought iron. With each bounce
a painful thrill pierced her breasts. She slid to her knees, then her breasts followed her ample ass and she knelt on the patio. Slowly she raised her ass in the air, bent her waist, and rested her weight on her hands and knees.
Mr. Wilberforce looked on in approval. Sally's breasts were still tightly wrapped in sodden fabric. They loomed below her rather than dangled, a lusty presence in the cave of her body. Her bare buttocks gleamed red under a coat of sweat. Her cunt glistened through tangled blonde pubic hair.
"Now then, Mrs. Roberts. Beg nicely."
Sally swallowed. A little light humiliation was a necessary evil if she was to experience the biggest cock she'd ever laid eyes on.
"Please, Mr. Wilberforce! Oh, please fuck me!"
Mr. Wilberforce's cock twitched at the soft, appealing sound of his neighbor's plaintive, beseeching cries. It was some time since he'd topped a young woman but the technique seemed to be like swimming – he hadn't forgotten how. Happily, he crouched down and cupped Sally's quivering bottom in his hands, squeezing her cheeks as if testing for ripeness. She shuddered violently and almost sobbed.
"Oh, please, please give it to me, Mr. Wilberforce. Shaft me good and hard!"
Vanilla schmilla.
The fat shiny head of Mr. Wilberforce's cock pressed against Sally's anus. There weren't many young ladies who could accept his mighty appendage in the rear end but he suspected Sally could and would. Condom and lube required. Dammit, a quick trip to the bathroom cabinet was scheduled.
"I'll be back."
With a wry impersonation of Arnold Schwarzenegger, Mr. Wilberforce marched into his house, his prize-winning zucchini bobbing gently before him. Sally moaned in frustration.
"Where you going? Not now!"
She didn't know whether she should sit up or remain in submissive mode. A minute passed. Two minutes and no Mr. Wilberforce.